


Children of War

by SpicyChestnut



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Bombing, Canonical Character Death, Child Zelda, Childhood Anxiety, Childhood Friendship, Dark, Death, Drama, F/M, First Daughter Zelda, Friendship, Gen, Loss, Missiles and rockets and guns, Modern AU, Oneshot that may or may not be continued, President Rhoam, Psychological Trauma, War, assasination attempts, kids finding a way, kids picking up on the zeitgeist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24293386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyChestnut/pseuds/SpicyChestnut
Summary: She was too young to understand the reason for the tension coiled in the shoulders of her father and his advisers, or the hushed whispers her mother shared with the senators’ wives. She was too innocent to see the fighter jets which screamed overhead as anything more than noisy planes, or the tanks which sometimes rolled down the distant thoroughfare as big metal buses. It would only be as she came of age that she would understand the tenuous climate of her childhood, disfigured by violence and fear.Zelda Hyrule was a child of war.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	1. Children of War

Zelda Hyrule was a child of war.

She didn’t conceptualize it as such in her youth. She was too young to understand the reason for the tension coiled in the shoulders of her father and his advisers, or the hushed whispers her mother shared with the senators’ wives. She was too innocent to see the fighter jets which screamed overhead as anything more than noisy planes, or the tanks which sometimes rolled down the distant thoroughfare as big metal buses. It would only be as she came of age that she would understand the tenuous climate of her childhood, disfigured by violence and fear.

Historians would later call it simply the Great War: a long and vicious conflict between the great nations of Hyrule over its dwindling resources, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of thousands—both militant and civilian alike. It was a war that would forever mar he landscape of the continent, and forever change the trajectories of each nation’s future.

But in her youth she didn’t understand this. She knew only the large manor house in which she lived, situated atop the highest point of a sprawling grassy estate surrounded by tall stone walls. The bustling staff of advisers and aides which swept in and out like the tide, the perpetual absence of her father and the fragile anxiety of her mother—that was her life. It was, perhaps, not the most nurturing of childhoods; but Zelda was a resourceful and independent child, and took pleasure in the estate’s manicured gardens and in the manor’s extensive library.

Her first six years were spent largely in this way—alone with her books in the library and her magnifying glass out in the garden, ferried away from her solitude only for lessons in the east wing study under the tutelage of a stern-faced tutor. The house servants did not have children, and the statesmen rarely brought theirs when they came to call. She thought herself content in her isolation; content, at least, until the unexpected arrival of Mr. Forrester and his son, Link.

It was the first attempt on her father’s life that resulted in Mr. Forrester’s appointment in their home. The Senate insisted on increasing his security—and along with his, that of his family’s. Security guards had always patrolled the perimeter wall, and several had always been stationed in the house and at the gates; but it wasn’t enough, one of her father’s advisers insisted angrily one day as Zelda eavesdropped from a crack in the door to her father’s study.

“The war is escalating—the Yiga attacks grow more bold. You can dismiss the attempt on your life all you’d like, but they got far too close. Think of your wife-your _daughter_ , Rhoam… How much would you be willing to capitulate to enemy demands if it were Zelda they used as a bargaining chip instead of the southern border?”

It had been the first time Zelda heard anyone refer to the perpetual thickness in the air by a name: _war_. She knew Rauru—he was not only one of her Father’s advisers but a family friend, and a frequent visitor to the estate. He always had a pocket full of caramels for her when he came by, along with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. To hear him sound so angry—and so _scared_ …

For the first time in her young life, Zelda began to fear this thing which caused everyone around her such distress—this thing Rauru called war. After that, she began to dream of angry shouts and fearful whispers—of a figureless mass overtaking the horizon, dark and foreboding—a specter her subconscious called war.

A week later on a sunny Saturday afternoon she was pulled from her afternoon play and brought to her father’s study.

“Sweetheart, I would like you to meet someone,” her father began kindly, standing from his chair and walking around his desk. He gestured at a man who stood before it—tall and barrel-chested with messy blond hair and the same navy blue uniform as the other guards stationed around the estate.

“This is Mr. Forrester, and from now on he will be your personal bodyguard.”

Zelda blinked up at him as he offered her a smile and a tight salute. She offered him a polite smile and mumbled, ‘Nice to meet you,’ before turning to her father, attempting to mask her confusion and anxiety as she inquired: “Bodyguard?”

Her father nodded. “Yes—from now on, wherever you are throughout the estate he will be with you. And if you ever find yourself in trouble, he will be there to help you.”

“Why do I need a bodyguard? I’ve never needed one before…”

Her father’s smile thinned. “Times change, my dear.”

And that was all he had to say on the matter.

Zelda struggled to adjust to Mister Forrester’s presence. Though he kept a respectful distance she was never out of his line of sight and she felt his eyes on her always—like two rays of summer sun burning too hotly against her skin. Over the years she had grown used to her solitude—grown appreciative of her own quiet company. It made his unfamiliar presence felt all the more keenly—like the sharp intrusion of a splinter beneath her nail. For the first few days she tried simply to pretend he was not there; but her every action felt mechanical and put-on, knowing as she did that he was watching her. She tried to ignore the stress building up inside her—forcing her smile wider and her playtime happier—but the feeling was wearing her down and winding her up. By the end of the week she felt torn between screaming and crying; but she did not feel comfortable talking to her mother about it, and her father had not the time for her, and so she kept the feelings inside, burying them deeper and telling herself she was being silly and stupid and childish.

Until, one day, she couldn’t.

She was out in the garden at sunset, waiting out the hours between the end of her lessons and the start of dinner, when all at once it became too much. She had brought out a book to press flowers and had managed, for the briefest of moments, to forget he stood ever watchful at the entrance to the path. She plucked her favorite daisies and laid them delicately in the pages of her book, smiling softly as she closed the spine gently to press them just right, when a gentle tap came at her shoulder. She turned, startled, only to find him standing behind her, slightly stooped, with a flattened flower in his outstretched palm.

“You dropped this,” he said kindly, proffering the lost item; But weeks worth of distress had finally grown too heavy to bear, and his sudden intrusion had broken the delicate balance she had only just been maintaining. Her eyes wide and pooling with tears, she dropped her book and ran—ran like the devil was at her heel, only dimly aware of his frantic pleas behind her. She ran through every small gap in the bushes she knew he couldn’t fit through, between statuary and across the grassy fields, running for the small wood at he rear of the estate and the tiny gardeners shed tucked away amidst in the greenery.

She hunkered down in a dark corner of the shed between a sack of potting soil and a stack of terra cotta pots and cried. She didn’t have a name for the feelings which stormed within her, nor did she particularly care—she only knew she felt overwrought and overwhelmed and needed to cry—and perhaps most importantly: be _alone_. And so she shed her tears upon her knees, her skirt now dirty and torn from her flight through the garden shrubs. She didn’t know how long she cried—it felt like hours, but as her tears began to dry she heard a sudden squeak and jerked her head up toward the unexpected noise. A young boy no older than her stood in the doorway of the shed, a mop of messy blond hair atop his head and startling blue eyes vibrant in the amber light.

She stared at him as if a deer caught in headlights and he stared back, head cocked as the shed door snapped shut behind him.

“You’re Zelda,” he said, apropos of nothing. Zelda blinked, lifting the back of her hand to self-consciously wipe away the moisture on her cheeks.

“Who are you?” she asked hoarsely, pulling her legs protectively against her chest. The boy blinked, then slowly crossed to her, carefully reaching for one of the pots with dirty hands before settling cross-legged in front of her, placing it in his lap.

“I’m Link. Everyone is looking for you, you know.”

Zelda sniffed and looked away, hugging her legs tighter, too worn and weary to question how a strange boy had managed to enter the estate, let alone find her hiding place.

“I don’t care,” she mumbled, pressing her cheek to her knees. “I just want to be alone. I’m tired of always being watched by Mr. Forrester.”

The boy cocked his head curiously. “Has he been annoying? I can tell him to stop.”

Zelda looked up, brow furrowed. “You… you can?”

The boy nodded confidently. “Sure.”

“But… how? You’re just a kid—why would he listen to you?”

“He’s my dad. If he’s bugging you I’ll tell him to stop. He’ll listen.”

Zelda blinked again, processing this new information. Hope rose tentatively in her breast. What she wouldn’t give to go back to normal… Could Link really get him to go away?

“Hey… I was gonna go pot some of the wild poppies for the staff housing… wanna help?” He jiggled the pot in his lap, and Zelda felt a trembling smile pull up her cheeks.

“Yeah… sure, I’ll help.”

He extended a hand and pulled her up, handing her a pot and a trowel and leading her back outside into the dying light. For a short while as they dug up dirt and the long, snaking roots of the orange wildflower Zelda felt light—lighter than she had in weeks, laughing as Link got dirt smeared on his nose and smeared some on hers in retaliation. The flowers looked a little sad and wilty once they’d been transplanted, but Link insisted they only needed time and lots of water before “bouncing back”.

It was as they filled a watering can together at the spigot that Zelda heard the shouts, dropping the half-full container and spilling its contents all over the ground. She had become so lost in the rare moment of peace that she’d completely lost track of time, and worse—forgotten that people were looking for her.

It was one of the border guards that found her, murmuring in relief into his ear piece before insisting she accompany him back to the manor and shooing Link back to the staff housing. She watched him go sadly, carefully balancing both pots—one in each arm, as she followed after the guard. The weight on her shoulders was back, as was a sinking dread in her stomach. She didn’t dare to think what her father would say about her little stunt. He would be furious, of that she was certain. He’d never taken well to her rare outbursts of willfulness in the past.

She was thus shocked, to say the least, when her father instead greeted her entrance into his study with a trembling hug and watery eyes, murmuring her name into her hair as he held her just a little too tightly.

“Why did you run away?” he questioned finally, pulling back an arm’s length to look in her eyes, voice so much softer than she had been anticipating. Perhaps it had been that unexpected gentleness, but she found her vision quickly growing blurry. She reached for him desperately, sobbing her woes incoherently into his suit jacket as he patted her gently on the back.

“Shhh… it’s alright, Zelda. Your mother and I will talk with Mr. Forrester tonight, okay? It’s alright…”

After her tears eased her father escorted her to her room himself, arranging for both their dinners to be brought up. They ate together at her playroom table, and after, helped her get ready for bed, tucking her in and reading her favorite bedtime story. She fell asleep quickly—peacefully, to the sound of his gentle voice, scarcely aware of the kiss to her forehead or his silent retreat out her bedroom door.

The following morning she was brought to his office instead of her first set of lessons. Though she assumed the unscheduled summons had to do with the incident the day before, she didn’t know what to expect; but she knew she had not expected to see both her mother and father, Mr. Forrester and _Link_ all waiting for her.

“Zelda, Mr. Forrester has something he would like to say to you,” her father said gently. Mr. Forrester crossed the room and knelt before her, removing his beret and placing it solemnly over his chest.

“Zelda, I am so very sorry if I made you uncomfortable these past few weeks. It is my job to protect you, and I intend to do so—but I would like to do so in a way you find agreeable.” He offered her a gentle smile, and though Zelda felt uncomfortably put on the spot, she also felt a strange relief. She nodded nervously, and Mr. Forrester’s smile grew slightly.

“If ever I’m doing something to bother you, or if there is something you need, I would very much like you to tell me, alright?”

Zelda nodded again and, seemingly satisfied, Mr. Forrester stood, retaking his place beside her father.

“I know that you have had little opportunity to play with children your own age,” her mother began, stepping toward her and placing one manicured hand gently on her shoulder, “And Mr. Forrester told us you seemed to enjoy playing with Link yesterday—so we would like to formally introduce you. Zelda, this is Link Forrester, Mr. Forrester’s son. He lives with his father in the staff housing. You are free to play together whenever you wish.”

Link stood stoically beside his father, nodding his head politely in silent greeting; but a playful twinkle shone in his eyes—a silent ‘Toldya so,’ and it lifted the corners of Zelda’s lips, as well as the last of the weight from her shoulders.

After, she was escorted to her morning lesson, with assurances from her Father about Mr. Forrester and further apologies from the man himself. She felt a little overwhelmed by it all—she had never had any of her concerns attended so diligently before. It gave her hope that maybe— _maybe_ , things might get better.

Despite the strangeness of Mr. Forrester’s continued presence, Zelda found herself able to more easily adjust after the incident and her father’s subsequent intervention. He kept a greater distance, more often hidden from her view than not; and Zelda felt she could forget he was there most days. And because of that, her life seemed to fall back into some semblance of a rhythm.

She continued her daily lessons, her mother continued her hushed whispers with the senators’ wives, and her father spent most of his days in meetings or locked away in his study, hair growing ever more gray. The jets continued to scream overhead, and the tanks continued to roll down the main thoroughfare. But unpleasant additions to these familiarities arose as well: Dark dreams of nameless fears and strangling anxieties visited her slumber more nights than not, and according to snippets of conversation she overheard in the halls from her father’s advisers, the war was not going well.

But despite this, Zelda found a way to manage; because unlike before, where she had been left to the company of silent entertainments and her own thoughts, now she had a friend with whom she shared her nightmares and her fears, and with whom she could create little moments of utter peace amidst the vibrating tension overtaking the estate.

Now, she had Link—and he made all the difference.


	2. A Price to Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I think this is going to be a thing I add to randomly when I need to vent political feels. There is no schedule and only a loose plan--stow any expectations. That said, fair warning: this chapter’s gonna hurt. The story as I currently intend it does have a happy ending, but it’s a rough road to get there.
> 
> If you’re at all interested in this kind of thing, the theme song for this chapter is “New Americana” by Halsey. Which I wrote this to. On repeat. For days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, depictions of war, moderate gore, canonical character deaths and other deaths, dark/adult themes.

“You _would_ make a good leader, you know.”

Zelda huffed, tossing a stone into the pond. It sunk without a single skip.

“ _Not_ you _too_.”

Link shrugged, a sheepish smile on his lips. “It’s the truth. You’re crazy smart, well spoken, you want to help people, and you’re humble. That’s… _rare_. Your dad is a dying breed.”

“If I’m going to help people I want to do it as _one of the people_ , not by using their stacked bodies as my soap box.”

Link offered her a familiar wry look, turning the stone thoughtfully in his hand. This was far from the first time they’d had this conversation. After a moment he arced his arm back and jerked it forward. The stone skipped three times before falling below the surface. She huffed again.

“I don’t know how you do that.”

“I could show you…”

“No! That’s cheating. I want to figure it out on my own.”

He chuckled quietly, leaning back on his hands.

“If you insist.”

Zelda mimicked him, gazing up into the sky. Purple and pink streaked across a canvas of cerulean blue, and if she closed her eyes she could imagine the tiny dark spot high above them—the UAV holding eternal vigil in the airspace above the manor. For three years now it had provided surveillance to supplement the defense system. An Argus-eyed camera hung from its belly, capable of processing a 360 degree image over 25 square miles and picking up objects as small as six inches—all from 10,000 feet in the air. It sported the fastest computing power of any camera system in Hyrule, and its construction—a closely guarded military secret, was one of the most simplistically ingenious technological breakthroughs of the war.

She would know—she personally helped design it.

“How have the lessons with your dad been?” she inquired casually, turning her head to watch him as he stared into the sky.

“Good! I can consistently hit a bullseye from 100 feet, now. Dad says I’m a natural.”

“They’ll hardly have anything to teach you at boot camp,” she said with a dry laugh. After a moment she coughed, turning back to the sky.

She had intended to sound teasing—they only had a week left before his fourteenth birthday, after all; but her melancholy seeped through, staining her words bitter and blue.

Link shifted on the grass, turning to face her.

“Zelda—”

“No, it’s fine. I know it’s what you want, I’m just… it’ll be different, without you.”

She angled her head to meet his gaze, offering a weak smile.

He stared at her a moment, brow furrowed in that way that suggested he was seeing more than he let on. She righted herself and casually crossed her legs, staring out over the water so he couldn’t see her face.

“I’ll message you whenever I can,” he murmured.

She spared him a quick glance, praying her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

“You’d better.”

A familiar polite cough sounded from behind them and Zelda schooled her features, turning to face the stiff, formal figure of her bodyguard.

“Dinner will be served soon, Miss Zelda. I would suggest heading back to the manor so that you are not late—your Father was particular about your promptness given tonight’s guests.”

With a quiet sigh she stood and dusted off her knees. Link did likewise.

“Thanks, Mr. Forrester. I’ll start heading back.”

“I’ll head back in a bit, too, Dad.”

Her bodyguard nodded and turned to give them space, retreating to the tree line where he kept her just within his sights. Zelda turned to Link, offering him a brighter smile than she felt.

“Walk me back?”

He nodded firmly then reached for her hand, pulling her along through the trees. She squeezed his fingers tight, following wordlessly, wishing for all the world she never had to let go.

-:-:-:-

It had been seven years since the day they met; seven years spent side-by-side. He had quickly become her best friend—her first and only friend; for the war only grew worse as the years went on, and though she had been promised attendance at Kakariko Preparatory School—one of the most prestigious academies in Hyrule, as she came of age to begin middle school plans for her to transition out of private tutoring utterly fell apart.

The previous year had seen the conflict, once constrained to the outer limits of the country, quickly overrun its borders. The military scrambled to establish a defensive perimeter, leaving abandoned trenches cut along the countryside like track marks. Citizens scrambled to escape the fighting, a mass exodus to the nation’s interior quickly overcrowding cities and causing poverty and crime to skyrocket. The Capitol was locked down, large concrete barricades erected and security checkpoints installed—only residents and essential personnel allowed in or out. In little more than a year Hyrule had been transformed into a shadow of its former self—darkness lurking in every corner and hidden in the eyes of every man, woman, and child.

Her father, as well as much of his cabinet, deemed it far too great a risk to send her outside the protective cocoon of the Capitol; and since the only schools within the safe zone were deemed too pedestrian for the President’s daughter—particularly given her widely-lauded prodigal intelligence, her schooling continued within the Presidential Estate instead, her pool of friends and acquaintances limited to Link and the Senators’ children. For despite the number of people who flitted in and out of the Presidential Estate every day, truly that was the sum of her company. Her mother and father were too burdened by the war to spend any time with her, the staff was focused on attending the increasing number of politicians and generals who came to see her father, and her few opportunities to leave the estate at all dwindled to nothing as the war worsened.

Thus, she and Link became nigh on inseparable.

They became notorious within the estate; she had a penchant for pranks and he for traps, and between the two of them they often caught the estate staff and members of the Executive Guard unawares: covering them in courser bee honey from the apiary or cocooning them in netting from the garden shed (depending on who had been their tormentor). Her father, in a rare show of good humor and exceptional foresight, had declined to punish them for their antics when the head of security deigned to complain—though he did lay groundwork for safety after a maid nearly broke an ankle.

“If two children can so easily catch you unawares, what are the odds a trained assassin could? Simply learn to avoid their traps and tricks, Rusl—it will keep you on your toes.”

With no other recourse, the staff was forced to do just that, tiptoeing around corners and double checking doors before opening them. This, of course, simply encouraged their creativity; and though she doubted her father had been particularly serious about the comment at the time, it _had_ served to keep the guard on their toes.

And it was this attentiveness which saved her father’s life.

Zelda was ten when it happened. She had been dead asleep when the alarm went off, its shrill shriek startling her awake and forcing her hands over her ears to dull the piercing ache. Her evening guard darted into the room, wrapping her in a blanket before ushering her through the hidden passageway in the wall—to the safe room deep below the mansion. She trembled violently the whole way through the cold, twisting passage, curling up on the couch of the safe room as she anxiously awaited her parents, and an explanation.

Link showed up at the safe room’s blast door not long after she, pounding furiously on the metal and shouting her name. Though the guards were bewildered, after checking the security cameras they opened the doors, ushering in a frantic Link as well as a harried and red-faced Mr. Forrester. She was up and off the sofa before she could blink, clinging tightly to him as she trembled, the tears finally spilling.

Mr. Forrester, still in his striped pajamas, wearily opened the weapons locker to kit himself out while she huddled up with Link on the couch.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured thickly against her sleep-mussed hair. She trembled harder, curling into him as she cried.

They fell asleep there, tangled in each others arms as the hours passed. It wasn’t until morning that the lock down was lifted. As light peeked over the horizon Zelda was escorted to the briefing room, Link and Mr. Forrester by her side (at her petulant insistence). That was how she learned her father had nearly lost his life.

Rauru broke the news. An assassin had managed to sneak through perimeter security and into the manor, impersonating one of the butlers. His disguise and mannerisms were an impeccable imitation—someone had clearly been closely monitoring the staff during their time outside of the Presidential Estate. During the night he managed to sneak into her father’s study—a silenced pistol pointed at the back of his head, when one of the guards, having noticed faint, dusty footprints on a rug out of pattern with patrols, rushed into the room and tackled the man to the ground. Her father had been hit in the shoulder and airlifted to the nearest hospital with her mother in tow. The injury proved moderate—the bullet had passed through muscle, leaving his bones and tendons largely intact. After the assassin’s capture the estate had been swept and additional resources called in before daring to lift the lock down.

At the end of the sordid tale she had burst into tears—at first out of shock, then relief, then exhaustion. Link held her through it all, a steady hand at her back and reassuring words murmured in her ear. She didn’t think she’d have made it through the ordeal without him.

If up until then he had merely been a friend, after he became so much more.

He was her confidant: she came to him with her worries and fears as well as her successes and joys, and he did the same. She showed him sides of her few others knew, entrusting him with her most delicate dreams and embarrassing secrets. They spent mornings playing tag throughout the manor and afternoons beside the pond in the woods at the rear of the estate, relishing its quiet isolation. They would talk about everything and nothing, lying side-by-side and making shapes out of the clouds.

Mr. Forrester always kept a respectful distance, though after the attempt on her father that distance marginally shrunk—though she wouldn’t dare complain.

It was after the attack he began Link’s his arms lessons, too.

“He says I should know how to shoot in case we ever end up in a situation where it’s just you and me,” Link confided one afternoon, showing her a small pistol strapped to his ankle beneath his pant leg. He offered her a sheepish smile as he rolled the fabric back down. “I’m not a very good shot yet though.”

Her eyes went wide, looking at his ankle with a trace of fear.

“But… shooting a target and shooting a person is really different, isn’t it? Do you really think you could shoot someone?”

She’d never forget the look he gave her: bemusement, a touch of incredulity, and the faintest of smiles. And when he answered, he spoke as though stating the most obvious fact in the world:

“If it was to protect you, of course I would.”

It wasn’t long after that he became her first crush. It was hard not to develop deeper feelings when someone so close made such a declaration of devotion, roundabout (and likely unintentional) thought it was. She never told him, of course. She didn’t want their friendship to change—she valued what they had too much to risk it. And they were young; they had all the time in the world together before adulthood caught up to them. Maybe, some point further down the road, she could work up the courage to tell him how she felt.

Or, so she thought.

Six months ago he broke the news—and in doing so, broke her heart. As soon as he turned fourteen he planned to enlist, heading off to boot camp and, eventually, the war.

A war they were by all accounts losing.

They’d never had a fight before—not a real one; not one where she’d screamed and cried and refused to speak to him for days. Why couldn’t he _wait_ —or better yet, put his brilliant mind to use on an engineering degree where he’d be _safe_ at Hyrule University?

He shouted right back: why couldn’t she understand how much the military needed new recruits? That he wanted to help end the war and preserve the nation?

In the end it was Mr. Forrester who helped them make up, “accidentally” locking them in the greenhouse together after Zelda’s trowel mysteriously disappeared while re-potting her succulents. By the time the door swung open almost an hour later they stood between a fern and a ficus holding each other tightly, tears in both their eyes and fervent apologies on both their lips.

They both strove to make the most of the time they had left to them—time that slipped by far too fast. Every afternoon was spent together upon Link’s return from school, departing each others company only when dinnertime pulled them apart. She tried to keep conversation of his imminent departure to a minimum and just enjoy their time together. She had reluctantly come to terms with the prospect of life at the manor without him, already done her crying in the privacy of her room late at night. But despite her forced smiles and strident efforts, it always found a way to nag at the back of her mind, whispering of training accidents and battlefield deaths.

Before she knew it her father’s third-term inauguration loomed and with it, Link’s fourteenth birthday. He would be departing barley a week after, and though she knew her father was anxious about the political ramifications of his inauguration—everyone was, given it was the first to occur under emergency powers instead of democratic vote in centuries—she could scarcely summon the attention for it.

On the day of the ceremony she was awoken early, thrust before a cadre of stylists and squeezed into a knee length designer dress. The ceremony began as the evening chill dissipated beneath the rising morning sun. She stood next to her mother on the west lawn, forcing herself to stillness despite the urge to tug her pea coat tighter about herself. A general held out the constitution upon which her father swore his service to the country before several cameras, each telecasting the inauguration live throughout what remained of the country. A hundred of the most important members of the government sat in the audience, watching with stern faces and weary eyes as her father recited the oath of office with dutiful solemnity.

After, a celebration was held in the small ballroom. Once she completed her expected round of greetings and polite small talk she took her chance to sneak away as the dancing began—even managing to slip out from under Mr. Forrester’s watchful eye. She hurried back to her room, fetching a small, neatly wrapped package hidden beneath her pillow. She found Link where she knew he’d be—their usual spot beside the pond, staring up at the crescent moon. She waddled awkwardly toward him on the balls of her feet—the soil was soft enough her heels sunk straight down, and held a blanket tight around her shoulders.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

He turned with a start, a skipping stone in his hand as he peered into the dark.

“Zelda?”

“Who else, you goof.”

He broke out into a smile, glancing about the trees behind her curiously.

“Where’s dad?”

She grinned, sidling up beside him.

“The party was rowdy enough I managed to sneak away,” she confided conspiratorially. Link chuckled.

“He’s going to be so mad when he realizes you’re gone.”

“Well… he can just deal. I deserve ten minutes of privacy every once in a while, don’t I?”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Besides…” She lifted a hand, offering the small package between them. “I wanted to give you your birthday present.”

Link’s smile softened as he reached for it, fingertips brushing her own.

“You know you didn’t have to. We agreed—”

“Well, I lied,” she sniffed, crossing her arms. “I know you’re not going to be able to bring much with you when you—when you go, so I made sure to get something small.”

A cloud passed over the moon, smothering its faint light, and she only knew he began to open his gift by the sound of ripping paper and the shuffle of the ribbon. He pulled off the lid of the box he lifted its contents between them, catching what little light pierced the canopy. She felt her her cheeks heat with a blush as he silently passed her the box, popping the circular silver locket open and bringing it close to his face for examination.

She looked away, feeling embarrassment briefly overtake her. Inside were two pictures, each of her choosing: one of the two of them as children, smiling like fools with cake all over their faces; and one of just her, taken recently by Link on a sunny afternoon in the garden. He’d told her she looked beautiful in it. She wanted him to remember her like that.

Silence hung heavy between them as he examined the locket, turning it this way and that to catch the light, fingers running over the silver as they so often did over his skipping stones. After a few more moments of silence she began to speak, feeling an urgent need to fill the void.

“I wanted you to remember me, remember us. Or, well, not remember us-us, but… you know, playing together as kids, and—and…”

“I love it.”

His words were quiet and his voice strangely choked as he snapped the locket shut. He slipped it reverently over his head, letting it settle against his chest near his heart.

“Thank you, Zelda.”

He smiled at her, then, his gaze soft and affectionate, taking a step closer

“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered hoarsely past the lump in her throat—an admission she had tried hard to avoid. “ _So much_ —”

Without a word Link stepped into her, wrapping his arms around her as she did the same, hugging him tight and breathing him in, willing the ache in her heart away. Tears trailed steadily down her cheeks, dripping into his collar. She would look a mess once she returned to the party; but tucked as she was in the safety of his arms, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

As they parted, Link eyed her softly, bringing a hand to her cheek. She leaned into his palm, closing her eyes and taking a shuddering breath as he gently brushed away her tears with his thumb.

“Zelda…”

She opened her eyes, finding him much closer than he’d been a moment ago. His eyes held hers, a million emotions reflected in their moonlit blue. His brows furrowed and for a moment his gaze flickered down to her lips. He leaned in closer—close enough she could feel his breath against her face, feel his warmth crowding out the cold. Her heart pounded, fingers fisting the back of his jacket.

“Zelda, I—”

_Boom!_

They whipped around as one, a startled shout crawling up her throat. A blinding light lit up the forest, fading just as quickly—and coming from the direction of the manor. Dark smoke rose above the trees, lit orange from below. A… fire?

No; an _explosion_ —

_“DAD!”_

Her scream was shrill and arose unbidden. She was moving before she was even consciously aware of it, a steady stream of _‘no no no no’_ looping like a broken record in her head. She shed her blanket atop her heels, sunken and stuck in the soft soil, fleeing barefoot toward the manor and the smoldering wreckage of the west wing ball room.

“Zelda— _wait_!”

She barely heard him above the rushing of blood in her ears. The rapid thump of her heart drove her forward in a haze of panic, each beat a steady thrum of urgency. She had to make it to the ballroom— _had to make sure her parents were alright_. She couldn’t lose them, she was already losing link; she _couldn_ ’t—

Though the night was cold and the grass damp and slick beneath her feet she didn’t slow, didn’t stop, didn’t heed the shiver in her limbs or Link’s pleas behind her; but the sound of a gunshot echoing out across the night stopped her dead in her tracks. She whipped around, eyes wild, heart pounding out of her chest—and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight before her.

_Yiga._

Two foot soldier: clad in camouflage and hidden behind black masks sporting the red mark of their movement. They ran at the two of them from within the forest, pulling rifles from their backs. One lay unmoving on the ground and Link stood between her and the others, a pistol in hand—the pistol Mr. Forrester insisted he always keep at the ready.

Link’s shoulders hunched and two more shots rang out. The two remaining combatants crumpled to the ground, falling atop their rifles. Behind them movement caught her eye and her gaze darted further back, to where shadows flitted among the trees; more Yiga, swarming towards the sounds of combat. Before her brain could quite catch up Link turned and closed the distance between them, grabbing her hand and yanking her along wordlessly in his wake.

The mansion was properly aflame, now. Smoke billowed up from the west in steady clouds of choking black. The crackle of fire and creaking timber overtook the quiet night, punctuated by the sound of their heavy breathing. Though her mind was spinning she held on to two thoughts: keep moving, and don’t let go of Link’s hand.

Dull thumps echoed suddenly out over the lawn and clumps of grass erupted around them, flying into the air. Zelda squeaked, a hand rising to cover her head and ward off the spray of dirt. She glanced about, finding divots in the grass not feet from them. Daring a quick glance over her shoulder she nearly stumbled with anxiety. A line of Yiga knelt in the dirt, rifles trained upon them both. Their distance and the darkness were likely the only things preventing their shots from hitting the mark.

“ _Link_ —!”

“Keep moving!” He panted, and she whipped her head back around. “We need to get to security!”

_Boom!_

Another explosion erupted from the mansion, this one from the executive wing. Zelda shrieked and Link zagged left, dragging her with him—out of the way of flying debris. Smoke and ash quickly overtook them in a plume and they fell into a coughing fit, pace slowing; but they didn’t stop— _couldn’t_ stop. Blindly Link led her forward, and as they breached the dark cloud Zelda was greeted with a sight that made her nearly fall to her knees in relief: members of the Executive Guard, running frantically across the lawn in full tactical gear.

“It’s her!” one of the guards shouted as the two of them came into view, altering course toward them. They darted behind the relative safety of a nearby garden shed before bending over, hands on their knees, coughing and gasping for air. The guards quickly joined them, forming a protective circle around them. The speaker, head of executive security—Rusl, stepped toward them, taking a knee before Zelda.

“They’re evacuating the mansion now. Din and Farore—your _parents_ , are safe,” he reassured. Zelda felt such a wave of relief sobs mingled with her choked gasps for air. Rusl looked her over, turning her this way and that.

“Are you injured? We need to get you to the helipad, a second chopper is waiting—”

“Yiga—” Link coughed, struggling upright. Only then did the Rusl seem to notice the pistol in his hand. He pulled the rifle from his back, slinging it over his shoulder and glancing about furtively. Another began to quickly remove his vest, his crooked name tag reading “Asher”, tugging it hurriedly over his head.

“There were… Yi-yiga foot soldiers in the forest—”

“How many?”

The man—Asher, pulled Zelda forward, slipping the vest over her head and securing the velcro straps about her waist. It was heavy and overlarge, pulling on her shoulders and making movement difficult; but she was too beleaguered to argue or complain.

“A dozen?” Link continued, “Maybe more? I shot three, but—”

A sudden sharp snap interrupted the conversation and Asher, who had just resumed his place in the circle, fell heavily to the ground, a pool of red blossoming around his chest. Zelda screamed, scrambling back in horror.

“Sniper!” Rusl shouted, stepping in front of Zelda and aiming his rifle in the direction of the shot. “Get Nayru to safety—that is your top priority. Go!”

Before Zelda could speak—before she could scream or cry or even process that a man had just given his life for her, she and Link were being whisked away by three guards, and the sound of gunfire erupting behind her. Dumbly she kept her head down, allowing herself to be pulled through the garden, only just keeping her feet beneath her.

The fire had spread to the residential wing and flames licked out of burst windows, blackening the cool stone brickwork. It was spreading quickly through the aged building, the roar of an inferno filling the air. The dark night was alight with a red glow, speckled white with ash raining from the sky.

Zelda followed their guide blindly as he led them hurriedly across the grounds, around the far side of the manor toward the helipad. Zelda was panting, barely able to catch her breath—barely keeping up, her feet aching and ice cold against the chilled concrete. But it was welcome—a good distraction; better than to feel the hand squeezing her heart, the fear and fury and dread barely held at bay by the shock.

The rush of air and low whoop of helicopter blades could be heard up ahead. They were near the helipad, and by the way the wind blew powerfully down the breezeway the choppers were already prepped and ready for take off.

The guards ushered them on, out of the breezeway and onto the pad where two helicopters sat waiting. Though the ground was littered with Yiga bodies and stained with blood, at the sight of her parents everything else faded away.

“Mom! Dad!”

Her father was already aboard, her mother being helped up the steps by Mr. Forrester. At Zelda’s voice, though, they both turned sharply, eyes wide and wild as they searched for their daughter.

“Zelda?”

_“Zelda!”_

Her father leaned out of his seat, peering out of the door, voice weary, hoarse, and infinitely relieved. Though her mother tried to retreat down the steps of the helicopter Mr. Forrester carefully barred the way, ushering her inside. She was quickly ushered into her seat, though she never turned her gaze from the doorway.

Zelda too, tried to run to them, but was held back by one of the guards who had escorted her, directing her to the second chopper some distance away.

“They’re about to take off—over here. Quickly!”

Zelda fought, using what little strength she had left to try and wriggle out of his grip—but he was stronger. It was only when she felt Link’s hand reach for her own that she stopped, turning to him with furious eyes.

“It’ll be alright—just do as they say.”

She turned back to the chopper—eying the anguished expressions of her parents, the solemn faces of the vice president and second lady, the hunched forms of the next two politicians in the line of succession—each disappearing behind the double doors as Mr. Forrester pulled it shut. He hit the window of the cockpit with a smack and hobbled away, the blades of the chopper speeding up until they could no longer be seen.

As he caught sight of the two of them—and of his son, his shoulders sagged in relief and the ghost of a smile lifted his lips. Only then did she notice the dark, reflective stripe running down his leg, and the prominent limp in his step. He’d been shot.

_Boom!_

The guards around them huddled close, shielding them from the wind and smoke. Another explosion—this one closer. Too close.

“Get Nayru aboard!” came Mr. Forrester’s commanding shout, “Go— _go_!”

Just as the guards around them stepped back and began ushering them forward, a screaming tore across the sky, a small rocket hitting the building behind them. The man at their backs pushed them both roughly forward as Mr. Forrester took up position beside the door.

“Get moving!”

Zelda glanced numbly to Link, the events of the night quickly catching up to her. A fierce trembling was rattling her frame, her hands shaking as she stumbled forward. Link’s jaw was set, his eyes hard, but she could see the fear in his eyes too. He slid an arm around her waist, helping her forward, and together they clambered clumsily up and into the cabin.

Much of her father’s cabinet already occupied the available seats, so the two of them stood, reaching up for the straps hanging from the ceiling. Mr. Forrester followed them up into the chopper, reaching for the handle of the sliding door.

It was then the Yiga made their appearance.

Shots rang out, the perimeter of Guards around the helipad falling to the ground. As Mr. Forrester hurriedly pulled the door shut sharp metallic pings echoed off the hull. A crack spread across the glass window and the senators shrieked, but Zelda was too beleaguered to do anything more than tremble. Though Mr. Forrester pulled hard on the door, one of the bullets hit the locking mechanism, ricocheting onto the concrete. While the door slid shut, try as he might it would not lock. With a grunt he held it shut by hand, knuckles white on the handle as he turned to the pilot.

“Go, go, go!”

The chopper began to rise, wind whistling through the gap, and he turned to link, nodding pale-faced and straining toward the supplies strapped to the back of the seat.

“Link—grab a rope!”

Link eyed her reluctantly, apology in his eyes as he released her waist, hurriedly reaching for the neatly wound cord secured to the back of the seat.

Through the un-cracked portion of window Zelda could see the landscape opening up below them. It looked unrecognizable. Much of the city was on fire. The concrete walls erected around the inner portion of the capital had been breached, and dozens of Yiga tanks rolled through the city streets.

It was as they reached cruising altitude some three hundred feet above the ground that the helicopter gave a sudden violent jolt. Alerts and sirens began to wail within the cockpit and the chopper began to spin; and though his grip had been firm, Mr. Forrester couldn’t hold the door closed against the sudden shift in forces. The door slid open with a bang and Mr. Forrester fell back against the Secretary of State, Link collapsing onto the floor at the feet of the congressional leader. The pilot angled his head, shouting back into the cabin above its passengers screaming, his own panic thinly veiled:

“We’ve been hit! Hold tight, we’re going to attempt an emergency landing!”

But it was already too late.

The wind was whipping the cabin into a frenzy. The spinning and juddering of the helicopter was dizzying, and soon Zelda’s feet where knocked out from beneath her. She clung tight to the hand strap, struggling to find her footing, but the chopper was moving too erratically. As vertigo took hold and the chopper was rocked by another violent turn, Zelda’s arms gave out and she fell, sliding along the floor and straight out the door.

_“Zelda!”_

A scream tore from her throat and she reached out desperately, fingers catching on the bottom of the landing wheel. Though she cut her hand open she held fast, feet dangling hundreds of feet above the capitol. She looked up, heart thundering, adrenalin pumping, only to see Link’s face, white and stricken, and his hand reaching out for her desperately. He held on to a handle just with in the door, Mr. Forrester holding tight to the back of his jacket to keep him steady.

“Take my hand!” Link shouted above the din. She gasped, fingers numb from the cold and the wind and slick with blood, and tried to pull herself up. But her arms were so tired, the air so cold, and the chopper tossing her about like a ragdoll. It was all she could do simply to hold on.

As the chopper slowly lost altitude it also slowly stabilized, and she risked reaching out a hand; but he was too far, and as the chopper lurched again she reached back for the wheel, attempting to secure her grip.

“I can’t reach!” she shouted back, glancing about for handholds—anything she could use to lift herself up; But the wheel was the only thing within reach.

The capitol stretched out below her, its skyscrapers like the jagged teeth of a flaming maw, threatening to snatch her up. This high above the Capitol, she could better see the devastation the Yiga had wrought on the city. She could see the smoke rising in curls into the sky. She could even see her parents chopper in the distance, flying east toward the safe house…

And she could see the sudden spark of light at the top of one of those skyscrapers, and the trail of a rocket which erupted from it, streaking across the sky toward the helicopter which bore her parents to safety.

_“NO!”_

It took barely a moment before it hit. The missile exploded in a burst of light and fire and smoke, and she watched in horror as the mangled fuselage spun tight circles before crashing into the city below.

“Zelda, _please_!”

She turned her face up, tears stinging her eyes and running icy streaks down her cheeks. Link was leaning down desperately, stretching as much as he could, his face ashen and despairing. She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed her arms to move—trying with every ounce of strength she had left to lift herself up; but as she extended her hand, the chopper made another violent jerk. Fingers numb and limbs worn far beyond their limit, at last her grip was shaken free.

She fell in slow motion. Above her she could see Link’s horror-stricken face, growing smaller as the distance between them grew greater. His lips moved, though she couldn’t hear his shout above the wind whistling in her ears. And then, suddenly, he was gone—yanked viciously back inside and out of sight.

Her eyes burned and her stomach was in her throat, the sense of vertigo and panic overwhelming her senses. The wind had pulled her hair out of its bun, whipping about her head like Medusa’s serpents. As she caught sight of her hand still reaching up despite the futility, the realization came to her both suddenly and slowly: she was going to die.

_She was going to die, and she never told him…_

As suddenly as Link had disappeared a figure leapt from the open chopper door. It sailed toward her like a bullet, a dark shadow against the glowing, smoke-filled sky. She blinked, and then arms were embracing her, a body pulling her close, and the familiar voice of Mr. Forrester spoke in her ear.

“If you see my son again tell him I’m sorry—and that I’m _so proud_ …”

The last thing she remembered was the thud of impact knocking the wind from her lungs and a sharp pain lancing through her skull before darkness overtook her—and the fire, the helicopter, all the death and horror of the night, disappeared behind her eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The ARGUS-IS is a real military camera. I stole that. Everything I described is actually what the ARGUS-IS can do, plus more! It can simultaneously process a live view of a broad area while also zooming in on multiple smaller areas of the surveillance grid--so small you can a phone in someone's hand. It was first created using some 300+ iphone cameras cobbled together in an array. Usually they are attached to the bottom of predator drones and flown over an area 10,000 or so feet in the air. Both fascinating and terrifying. *rainbow hands* the more you know...

**Author's Note:**

> Well... COVID and the US political landscape right now seem to have finally gotten to me. You can probably see some very 'of the moment' themes here. I sat down the other night to work out some of those feelings and this is what came out. I have a tentative vision for continuing this story, maybe another 3-5 chapters, following Zelda into adulthood and the end of the war. I don't want to commit to it since I already have a lot of WIPs but, you know, it might happen. Thoughts and comments always appreciated!


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